


standing next to me, my mind holds the key

by nuclearmuffins



Series: The Caster's Canticle [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is dumb and in love, Blue-Purple Hawke (Dragon Age), Dragon Age II - Act 1, F/M, Justice (Dragon Age) Disapproves, Light Angst, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mentions of other characters - Freeform, POV Anders (Dragon Age), Pining, Pre-Relationship, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-12 04:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuclearmuffins/pseuds/nuclearmuffins
Summary: If Justice had control of his lips, it would be frowning, and he felt the spirit’s unamused displeasure tugging at the corner of his own awareness.She is a distraction from our goals.Maybe she is. But maybe I need it.Or, Anders pines, Justice disapproves, and Hawke, unaware, has a request for him.





	standing next to me, my mind holds the key

Justice was never quiet, but today the spirit burned in him, full of righteous indignation as the opposing energy of healing magic gathered in him. The blue light suffusing over his palm was a familiar sight, its illumination rich with the power of healing over his own calloused and roughened hands as he brought it down over the woman’s wounds. She hadn’t told him where she had gotten so injured like that, and he hadn’t asked. But the way she enunciated her vowels suggested to him  _ Fereldan _ , and just like that he had a vague inkling of what had happened. Few employers in Kirkwall treated their Blight refugee labourers well, be they Lowtown bricklayer or Blooming Rose prostitute.

In the back of his mind, listening and watching as it always did, Justice seethed.  _ Slaving by the sweat of their brows for a pittance of wages, it is- _

_ An injustice? _ He replied to the spirit with a hint of levity he was hard-pressed to find nowadays, even as the spirit quaked within him. Justice, he had long since learned, did not do things by halves. Anders felt his anger just as succinctly as it would have come from his own lips, with how entwined the two of them were. It pulled at him like sharpened talons, this utter  _ violation _ of the spirit feeling to him almost as Blighted as the taint calling to him,  _ growling _ in his own blood. 

_ Yes. _ Anders thought he could almost detect a hint of mirth amongst the spirit’s fury.  _ A breach of my very nature. You know it as well as I do. _

He did know it. He couldn’t  _ not _ know it, with how deeply he felt it in him, penetrating him like an arrow to his side. Even as he tried to suppress it through slow, steady breaths  _ (in through his nostrils, out through his clenched teeth) _ as he tried to keep his hands from shaking and interrupting his built-up concentration, he felt the spirit’s anger pushing against his own as he tried to keep his own emotions in check. He felt his pulse speeding as he tried to keep a careful watch over his magic, keeping a steady leash on his connection to the Fade as he pulled the curative energies from across the veil into the physical realm.

Magic had become easier with the spirit around, like a permanent gate to the realm of spirits opened up within him. Karl had spoken the truth just before the life was stolen from him again by the Tranquil brand - it was like carrying a bit of the Fade with him wherever he went. But keeping his own emotions separate from the spirit’s was becoming more of a challenge day by day; trying to tell which thought was actually,  _ fully _ his.  _ Maybe none, not anymore. _

_ But you wanted this. You let me in, willingly, and now we are as one. _

Anders maintained a careful watch, both through his eyes and within himself. He focused on two separate places: the blood steadily siphoning away from the woman’s skin and purifying under the aura emanating from his hands to flow back into her veins as the delicate membrane weaved back together, and the ire of the spirit within him as he finished the job. 

“Thank you, thank you, ser,” the woman showered blessings upon him profusely as she reached for his hands, eagerly shaking them before stepping back and running out of his now-empty clinic.

As soon as her steps retreated and he was left in his darkened hovel, Anders made for the chair the woman had occupied just moments ago, staggering into it with heavy legs. He had forced himself to control his breathing while doing his job, but now that he was alone, he panted and rasped, almost wheezing as he fought to catch his breath. He held his head in his hands as he blinked blearily at the ground, low on mana with little to no lyrium reserves to fall back on. He hadn’t eaten in a day, and it felt like grinding against the inside of his stomach. He had shut it out, hadn’t felt it as Justice weaved in and out of his consciousness, even blocked it as the patients lined up before him, but-

“Anders? Are you there?”

_ Her voice.  _

He’d come to know it almost as well as his own, or Justice’s, with how much it had taken up his dreams at night. That always shook him out of his reveries, pleasant or not. 

“Aaaanders?” Hawke’s voice trilled, echoing in the cavernous silence. “Oh, who am I kidding? You’re always here with your patients - not that I can blame you or anything. That sounds an awful lot like I was accusing you of caring too much. Which would be rather stupid. And hypocritical, probably, as Carver could attest to.”

He didn’t want to look up, fearful that this might have been all a manifestation of his imagination along with the sinking in his stomach that would follow.  _ Maybe I am still dreaming.  _ She’d been the subject of more than one these past few months, it wouldn’t be the first time. But he used her voice, imagined or not as a crutch, using it to hold on for life as he felt his lashes brush on his cheeks, feather-soft as his eyes shut. 

If Justice had control of his lips, it would be frowning, and he felt the spirit’s unamused displeasure tugging at the corner of his own awareness.  _ She is a distraction from our goals.  _

_ Maybe she is. But maybe I need it.  _

Almost exactly when he said it (or thought it, rather), he felt a flashing hot pulsation in his veins, briefly alight like an oddly childish twinge of displeasure from a being as old as the making at the heart of the world. He had been retorting to the spirit far more lately, increasing the dichotomy between them ever so slightly, even as they shared a body and the same mechanical movements, saw the same things through identical eyes. The reason why hung on his lips, unspoken; dared not be vocalized.  _ I told her as much. I can’t, we can’t. _

_ You need nothing that is not- _

“Hel _ lo? _ Anders?” there was a light tap on his shoulder, something she wouldn’t have done just a matter of weeks ago. “That  _ is _ you in there, right?”

He forced the spirit into silence as finally, he raised his head and let Hawke steal the air right out of his lungs the same way she had from the very first day they met, even with his worry for Karl hanging over him dark as a shadow creeping over the wall. Even in spite of the way she frustrated him, with her perceived lack of regard toward her fellow mages, in between their circling arguments over the question of freedom for apostates, and the spirit he carried with him in himself, he found himself almost  _ falling _ into her eyes. He had once overheard Varric calling them  _ resilient _ , but he saw things differently from the dwarf. Varric saw her graphite grey eyes as flinty, metallic, symbolizing a woman as impenetrable as steel; but to him, her eyes were storm clouds - dark and shifting, splintered and swirling. 

Then there had been an incident with the Starkhaven mages. He had thought she would hand them all back to the templars like sheep thrown to wolves, only to have her defend them,  _ lie _ for them like he could only dream of… There was no going back for him, after that. He’d become her captive.

But there was a fine line to walk, an impasse he could not cross. He didn’t know how much he would have to sacrifice if he was going to achieve freedom for his kind, only that he would not hesitate to give it all of himself. He didn’t know how much would be left at the end, just for her. He didn’t know if he would have  _ any _ . 

“It’s always me in here," he replied, even if that question was becoming a little harder to figure out the answer to day by day. He tried not to drink her in, to not let his eyes linger too long on her high cheekbones, or let his mind wander over to the thought of letting his thin fingers weave through her thick brown hair. (He failed.) Quickly clearing his throat, he tried to ask as casually as he could, "Are those new clothes?” He cleared the fog out of his eyes with a succession of rapid blinks, as if merely commenting on the weather and ignoring the new thudding his heart made in his chest while his eyes moved over her. His thoughts betrayed his rationality as he couldn’t help but think  _ Maker, but she’s beautiful. _

“What? Oh, this,” Hawke picked with what he thought was mild antipathy at the hem of her long tunic, and he commanded himself not to think about the way her new quilted tunic hugged her ample curves or the contour of her legs visible through her trousers. He told him not to think of how charming it was either, the way her lips twisted and pursed together as she fidgeted with its seam. “Varric got it for me for the expedition. It’s… comfortable, I suppose. But! We’re not here to talk about me! I brought something for you.”

People bringing him things wasn’t a particularly new phenomenon. Children brought him cats and dogs with injured legs, patients brought him cups of tea in gratitude, occasionally Varric wandered in with an odd story or two that always sounded made-up to him. But his fingers were trembling slightly as he undid the parcel she handed to him, not sure what he should be expecting for its contents-

“Is this…?”

“Pie. I think you’d be familiar with it,” she teased, a quick flash like lightning glinting behind her eyes.  _ Storm clouds. _ “I know this clinic is important to you, but you need to remember to eat, you know. You can’t exactly take care of your patients if you collapse over them, can you?”

He’d noticed this about Hawke - she didn’t have a single care in the world for anyone she didn’t consider to be someone  _ close _ , but once she did, she  _ fussed. _ She was constantly trying to fiddle with Carver’s hair, always insisting her mother put on something warmer, scolding Varric for one too many drinks before proceeding to grab a tankard of her own and drink men twice her size under the table. And now she’d started doing it to him. 

Hope was a dangerous thing for a man like him to have, he’d learned. 

Just for a few seconds, he wondered what it would be like if he could replicate what had happened with the Starkhaven mages, if he could just turn things around and make her see the value in their fight, to get her to  _ care _ about her fellow mage...  _ She could be the leader the mages of the world have been waiting for so long. If only she could just  _ see _ . _

“You can’t just be here to give me  _ food, _ ” he shook his head even as his stomach growled. He caught a faint whiff of fruit and butter pastry as he put the plate to the side before he looked back into her eyes, careful not to fall into them as was his tendency. “Did you want me for something else?”

“Such little faith in me. Can’t I just be here to give my friend some leftovers? Consider it a  _ miracle _ that I even had any after Carver had his way with it,” she bantered, and he felt his stomach somersault at even that little word.  _ Friend. _ But she seemed to catch herself and coughed into her fist before taking up a place near him, leaning lightly against an empty patient’s cot covered in rumpled and stained sheets. “But as a matter of fact, I  _ did _ come here to ask you something else.” 

His brows furrowed before releasing, leaning forwards and shuffling his chair slightly closer to her. “I’m listening.” 

“How would you like to come onto the Deep Roads expedition?”

_ The Deep Roads.  _ If he ever went again it would be too soon. He remembered the first time he had stepped in, the underground walls pressed around him like he was back in that darkened Circle cell again, trapped for a year with only rats and his own thoughts for company. He wet his lips, as a hand instinctively began rubbing the back of his neck while he hesitated on how to respond. "Hawke, I..."

Hawke sighed and tucked a long lock of hair behind one ear. "You know, I almost wish you'd call me Maura."

Anders’ mouth went slack, his thoughts thrown off balance and instead scrambling to piece together what he had heard. “Are you sure?”

A corner of Hawke’s mouth quirked up. "It's always  _ Hawke this, Hawke that _ ; you'd think I was the last of my family or something. It  _ would _ be nice to know I haven't disappeared entirely behind my family name."

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know her proper name before. She had introduced herself with it, first simply her surname - “Hawke” - followed by a hurried, “Maura Hawke”, with what he thought might have been a  _ confused _ expression of furrowed brows and a slight frown, almost as if she had forgotten how her name had sounded coming from her own lips. He’d heard Carver call her “Maur” on several occasions, and her mother couldn’t very well call her own daughter  _ Hawke _ , from the rare occasion they had met. 

But from his own throat…  _ Maura.  _ If he dared, he felt like he would be crossing a threshold there would be no returning from. 

He changed the subject, trying not to think too much and not bring the feelings he didn’t dare act on to the fore of his mind, even while their subject stood in front of him expectantly. “I thought I made my feelings on the Deep Roads clear.”

“They’re  _ your  _ maps that  _ you _ stole! I thought you would be interested in the spoils of victory, considering you're the reason this expedition is going through anyways.”

Anders huffed, a quick exhalation out through his lips more as a feeble attempt to clear his nerves than anything else. “I’m an apostate living in the sewers. What would  _ I  _ do with Deep Roads gold?”

Hawke shrugged, peering around the darkened walls of his clinic. “Move somewhere nicer? Somewhere without as many shit stains on the floor?" She ground her heel against a particular patch on the ground, over a mysterious dark stain that he did not want to learn the source of anytime soon.  _ Shit _ probably wasn't a bad guess. "I hear they have some lovely empty warehouses down by the docks.”

“They need me here in Darktown.” Here, where the Blight refugees all piled up with nowhere else to go, Fereldens all trapped in a place that did not want them and unable to return to their homeland. He didn't know if Ferelden had ever done anything for him, but a quiet pang of melancholy still echoed in him, if perhaps only out of sympathy.. He couldn't go back now, even if he had any shred of wanting to. He couldn't face Ena - that is,  _ Warden-Commander Surana _ .  _ Not like this.  _

“Then you can take all that money and invest it into running this place. Running a clinic isn’t a cost-free endeavour, I'm pretty sure.”

A convincing argument on her part. He had no use for gold himself, but that money could go towards keeping clothes’ on the other refugees’ backs, supplies for injuries he couldn’t simply wave away with a flick of his wrist. But still, the most persuasive reason remained… well, her.

“Who else is coming?” He asked, silently hoping it would be anyone else but that elf. He could work with anyone else, even the blood mage, but being trapped in the Deep Roads with  _ him _ would be torture more painful than any the Templars ever put him through.

“Varric wants to keep our group small, so him, obviously. I’m probably taking Carver along with, he’ll get grouchy if I say no. And since I’m not a healer, I thought we could use one down there,” she smiled. “No templars down there to sniff at your heels to boot. What do you think?”

A voice hissed in the back of his mind.  _ This will be a mistake, this is naught but a distraction- _

_ It’s  _ her  _ asking. _

_ She will do nothing but lead you astray. _

_ Will she? _

"It's a deal..." and before he could stop himself, he added, “ _ Maura _ .”

She gave him a smile, sliding the glove off her hand before holding it out to him. Hesitantly, he raised his own to meet it, feeling the warmth of her palm press against his as her thumb wrapped around his. He felt the pulse of mana thrumming gently underneath her skin, catching along with it the faint smell of ozone all mages carried with them that linked their shared connection to the Fade. “I’ll see you when the expedition starts, then. We’ll be in Hightown.”

Even if it had only been a simple handshake, he felt as if the patterns of her own skin had been imprinted into his, and he flexed his fingers awkwardly as she watched her whip her long, chestnut hair over her shoulder and turn on her heel to leave. Only she could get him to go to the Deep Roads again.

Anders rubbed his face as his thoughts - the only thing he could tell were completely his own thoughts were the ones about  _ her _ ; if it had been up to Justice, they wouldn't have given her the time of day - took over him.  _ What can I give her? The dirt on my boots, the feathers on my coat, the heart of a man possessed?  _ He couldn't do that to her, couldn't- this was his fight, and he wouldn't drag her down with him if this all went horribly wrong. _ She deserves more. More riches than the treasury of Orlais. Someone who could love her without condition, open every inch of their heart to her. The world opened up like a book for her perusal.  _ But all he  _ could  _ give her were stolen maps and a long, lingering look as she strode out of his clinic and left him alone with the rats and the echoing cries of the forlorn and destitute.

He would never forget the way the light caught in her copper waves, even if she deserved the sun, not the murky, diffused lamplight of Darktown. No, he wouldn't. Even if his pursuit of freedom for all mages made him lose sight of himself-

_ Are you done? _

The spirit almost sounded sardonic as it echoed, and even with the darkness of his own thoughts he had to laugh a little. 

_ Never. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the Discord group for their support and encouragement. Thanks especially to Kat (FactoryKat) for beta-ing <3 You're the best and I love you!
> 
> Title from _My Body is a Cage_ \- Arcade Fire.


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